


I'm right behind you

by touchmytardis



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Angst, Ghosts, I am very sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, no actual dying though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchmytardis/pseuds/touchmytardis
Summary: it's All Hallow's Eve and Childermass may or may not be haunted.
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	I'm right behind you

**Author's Note:**

> okay listen John Segundus is dead, I am very sorry, but there is no actual talk of his death. it's just a fact.

“You know, there are so many things here that remind me of him. I find it hard to believe a whole year has passed when his presence is still so strong.”

“Jonathan.”

“Oh, I did not mean to frighten you, Arabella! Of course I do not believe he would haunt us!”

“Dear, would you-”

“I only mean that this,” Strange paused, presumably to underline his words with some wild gestures, “this is all his doing. Starecross was his life, and I think it remembers him.”

Arabella finally stopped pretending she did not see him, and looked straight at Childermass, sad eyes and an apologetic smile. Childermass shrugged, turned around and walked away. As he reached the stairs, he could still hear Arabella scolding her husband over the sounds of fifty or so people talking.

“Childermass! Are you leaving already?”

With a sigh, Childermass stopped in the middle of the staircase and turned around. Tom Levy (along with Hadley-Bright and several of the younger students) had painted red stripes on his face and he was wearing an old black cape. He looked absolutely ridiculous, but Childermass appreciated the younger men’s eagerness to keep Starecross as bright and alive as it had been a year ago. He forced a smile.

“I’m an old man, Mr Levy. I’ve probably already had enough wine to give me a headache tomorrow.”

Levy walked closer and looked right at Childermass. His intense stare had the ability to make everyone uncomfortable, and even in his inebriated state it did not waver.

“And you are sure there is nothing else?”

Of course there was something else.

“I truly just want this day to be over.”

“Was that a ‘no, there is nothing else’ or a ‘yes, there is something but I do not wish to speak of it’?”

“Good night, Mr Levy.” Childermass offered him a smile before turning around.

“You do know I’m here if you need to talk, right?” Levy said quietly.

“Aye. Thank you.”

Childermass climbed the stairs and went to his room, leaning against the door as soon as he had closed it. He let his breath out and watched it turn into mist in front of him. He must have left the window open again, he had to remember to thank Mary for closing it for him tomorrow. He put another log on the fire and put his candle down on the nightstand. The festivities downstairs were a low murmur through the door, and it was a nice sound, though it was even nicer to be away from it.

He began undressing, and had just started unbuttoning his waistcoat when the door creaked open.

“Mr Levy?” Childermass called out, sure that he was the only one who might have the courage the bother him in his private rooms (other than Jonathan Strange, of course, but Childermass did not believe Strange would wish to see him at this moment). No answer came, so he walked to the doorway but was only met with the dark and empty passage leading to the stairs. He let out a heavy sigh and closed the door again, this time turning the key in the lock to make sure the draft could not open it again.

Childermass finished undressing and crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to his chest and leaning against the headboard. The chill was almost gone from the room, perhaps the extra log on the fire had helped, the temperature was almost comfortable now. He picked up the book on his nightstand and flipped it open in his lap. He had never really read novels before, but in the past year, he had gotten into the habit of reading a bit before he fell asleep. It was a nice change from the magical texts he usually read (and had grown to resent), and it kept his mind occupied.

The room had gotten warmer and now felt not only comfortable, but with the muted sounds from the party downstairs and the crackling of the fire, it felt strangely comforting. The cooks must have been airing out the kitchen, because the room was filled of sweet scents. Wafts of honey and cinnamon filled his head and heart, almost intoxicating. For a moment, he thought it was a bit odd that the scents were so strong when his window was closed. This was however, not the first a drink too many had seemed to enhance his senses, so he dismissed it.

The warmth and the comforting smells made Childermass drowsy – he had only read a page when he lost his focus, and a page later he had troubles keeping his eyes open. He must have fallen asleep, because the next time he opened his eyes both the candle and fire had almost burnt down. It was quiet now, and the air felt heavier than before, as though the scent of honey that still lingered in the air made it thick and sticky. He felt as though he was still half-asleep, and his arm seemed absurdly slow and heavy as he reached for the book still in his lap. He looked down and saw that the hairs on his arm was standing on end. How had he not felt it?

Childermass put the book down on the nightstand, but in his dazed state, he put it too close to the edge. He watched as it fell to the floor with a light “thud” and was mildly surprised when the thud was followed by something that sounded like a breath. It was impossible: while the walls sometimes felt too thin here, they were far too thick to let sounds of breathing through. So it must have been the fireplace, he turned his gaze to the low burning embers and had just decided that it must have been the wind when he heard it again. It was closer to the door. He knew he was alone, it was not quite dark enough to hide the shape of a person in the room, and he had locked the door. The wind?

He had guessed that he would be on edge tonight, in one way or another. Perhaps his temper would be short or he might be emotional, but this felt more like paranoia or fear, both feelings he was u nfamiliar with .  But then again, the past year had been filled of new and painful experiences, so if nothing else he should be accustomed to situations he did not quite know how to  process.  He wanted to ignore it, to go back to sleep and wake up to the month of November. But if he had not been imagining it, if there truly had been some  otherworldly being , he wanted to take care of the problem before it reached the students. It is what _he_ always did.

The scent of cinnamon and honey still filled the room, smokeless and yet much like the way Frankincense would will fill a church. The sweet tones were mixed with something he could not quite put his finger on but something that was earthy and familiar and lovely.  The sound was heard again, only this time it sounded more like a sigh. A very soft sight that was closer to the bed. Was that corner of the room perhaps a bit darker? No. No, any part of the room seemed darker if he stared at it long enough. 

Childermass sat up straighter and rubbed  his hand up and down his neck, trying to wake himself up fully. Something moved in the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, the mirror only reflected the stub of the candle and himself. A creak was followed by two footsteps. Someone going to bed, Childermass thought. He had gotten himself worked up over the sounds of an old and  draughty house full of people. He slumped back down and laid his head on the pillow, after a few deep breaths he could finally shake the uncomfortable feeling from his body and relax.

And then he remembered. He remembered and fear seized him again and  he felt goose bumps rise on ever y inch of his skin. He was not in his old room, which was located at the entrance of the dormitory  (and thus not very quiet) .  He was in John Segundus’ room, the only bedroom on the third floor (and the third floor was the one area in Starecross the students were not allowed to enter) and so there should not be anybody walking by his door. Childermass heard three more steps, and then he held his breath.

It sounded like someone with bare feet was walking inside the room. Five more steps, a pause to take that longer step over the creaking floorboard, and then three more. The breath he had been holding left his lungs in a gasp and  something inside of him twisted and turned and pulled and  without realizing he was doing it, he placed his hand on his chest to make sure his flesh had not been torn.

“No.” Childermass’ whisper echoed in the dark room.

He felt ill. His heart was beating too fast and he was shaking too hard and if he did not get his breathing under control he might suffocate. His skin was tingling and he heard another exhale, this time right next to the bed.

“Please, no.”

He turned away from the source of the sound, because he was frightened of what he might see. He lay still, waiting for more sounds, waiting and hoping and fearing that he might see something in the mirror. There were no more breaths and he did not see anything. The bed shifted and he felt a breath on his cheek. The flame of the candle flickered and went out as Childermass spoke:

“Love?”


End file.
